


Whump in Camelot

by Aini_NuFire



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt Lancelot (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26697994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: A few whumptober prompts I decided to write with Lancelot whump.
Comments: 23
Kudos: 44
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. No. 9 Ritual Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Whumptober! I got a little ambitious this year and in addition to doing all 31 prompts for The Musketeers, I decided to do a few for Merlin too. All Lancelot whump. Posting early to spread out the whumpy goodness.
> 
> This one's set after my AU "Heart and Soul" where Lancelot is rescued from being Morgana's shade rather than dying again. Thanks to 29pieces for beta reading!

No 9. Ritual Sacrifice

Lancelot woke abruptly to bitter liquid flowing into his mouth. He choked and sputtered, but someone clamped a hand under his jaw to keep it closed. Still disoriented, he reflexively swallowed, coughing as it went down awkwardly due to his supine position. The surface beneath him was hard and cold, and when he tried to move, he found his wrists and ankles lashed down with rope. Adrenaline surging, Lancelot struggled to break free, the coarse fibers grating against his flesh but refusing to give. He blinked rapidly, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting of what looked like a large cave lined with torches. People in black robes and hoods moved around him.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here, only that he'd been on patrol when they'd come across a woman in the woods who said she needed help. Then there was a blinding flash and…nothing.

That same woman came to stand over Lancelot now, her eyes hard and hungry as she gazed down at him. He tugged again at the ropes binding him, albeit futilely.

"You are a very unique individual, Sir Lancelot," she said. "One who's walked both the shadow world and this one." Her lips curved up into a greedy smile. "Your blood will give the rest of us a very potent power boost."

Alarm zinged through him. What?

The cloaked figures gathered around him. One held out a bowl to the woman, who dipped her forefinger in, and it came out with a dark, thick unguent. She then leaned over Lancelot and used the slick substance to paint something on his forehead. She uttered a spell, and the symbol or rune began to burn.

Lancelot sucked in a sharp breath of surprise as the heat spread down through his body, quickening his blood. Someone grabbed his right arm and rolled up his sleeve. The woman picked up an athame and set the blade against the inside of his forearm, slicing deeply. Lancelot gritted his teeth against the burning pain as blood welled up and spilled over. A goblet was held underneath to catch the blood.

Lancelot watched in horror and revulsion as one by one, the figures held the cup under his bleeding arm and then proceeded to drink from it. That hot energy pulsing from the rune on his forehead flushed through him and down toward the wound, draining out with his life blood and leaving a glacial numbness in its wake.

.o.0.o.

Merlin's heart gave an apprehensive lurch as the cave they were searching for came into view. As one, Arthur and the knights moved forward soundlessly, swords drawn. Merlin hoped they weren't too late.

The druid who had told them where Lancelot had been taken had risked his life to deliver the news to Arthur, insisting it wasn't his people who were behind this, but a sect from far north who practiced things not even the druids in Camelot condoned. Thankfully, Arthur had spared the man and they'd set off immediately to find and rescue their friend before these dark practitioners could complete their goal.

As the knights entered the cave, Merlin could hear distant chanting, and his anxiety spiked. Torchlight flickered just ahead, and there was Lancelot, tied down on a stone altar with cloaked figures surrounding him as they conducted their ritual. Merlin could feel the air prickling with magic.

Arthur sounded the charge and the knights surged in, weapons raised. The cloaked figures scattered, some taking up blades of their own. Merlin didn't know what kind of magic they possessed or would attempt to use in battle, but his primary focus was on getting to Lancelot.

He darted past pairs locked in combat and reached the altar. "Lancelot!"

His friend's eyes were open to mere slits, barely conscious. Merlin's gaze snapped to his arm that was bleeding profusely, and he quickly yanked his scarf off and reached over to tie it as tightly as he could around the wound. Keeping one hand there to apply pressure, he reached with his other to pat Lancelot's cheek, trying to rouse him. Lancelot was unresponsive. Merlin flinched at the pulse of dark magic he felt emanating from the rune painted on his friend's forehead. He didn't know what it was doing, but he knew he had to stop it.

Casting a harried look around at the battle to make sure no one was near, Merlin then pressed his palm over Lancelot's forehead and uttered a spell to banish the mark and its malevolent power. There was small whomp of magic and Lancelot jolted. Merlin lifted his hand to find the mark gone.

Lancelot's eyelids fluttered blearily and he started to loll his head. "Merlin?" he said groggily.

"Everything's okay," Merlin assured him. "We're going to get you out of here." He shifted his free hand to one of the ropes, trying to work it loose with one hand.

A woman suddenly shrieked and came charging at them, a gleaming knife raised above her head. She was too close and Merlin didn't have time to utter a spell, so he threw himself over Lancelot protectively. But at the last second, Arthur swooped in and ran his sword through her torso. Her eyes blew wide and she crumpled as he yanked the blade back out.

Around them, the other knights quickly finished off the rest of the sorcerers. Merlin noticed that whatever power had been vibrating on the air when they'd entered the cave was gone.

Arthur turned his sword to cut through Lancelot's bonds, then reached down to grab his arm. Merlin gripped his other and the two of them pulled Lancelot upright and helped him scoot off the altar. But as soon as his feet touched the ground, he collapsed in a boneless heap, dragging Merlin and Arthur down with him.

"Whoa, hey," Arthur exclaimed, adjusting his grip and trying to shake Lancelot awake.

Merlin cupped his face and patted his cheeks, but he was unconscious. And cold. Very cold. "We need to get him out of here."

Percival came forward and wordlessly slipped his brawny arms under his friend and hefted Lancelot into his arms. Then they all hurried out of the cave.

There was no time to return to Camelot, as Lancelot needed immediate attention. Blood kept dripping from his limp arm as Percival carried him through the woods toward a place where they could make camp. As soon as Percival laid him down on a patch of grass, Merlin rushed in and unwound his blood-soaked scarf from Lancelot's arm. The cut had been deep and who knew how much he'd bled before they'd gotten there.

"Percival, put pressure on that," Merlin instructed, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I- I think I'm going to have to try sewing it closed."

Something he'd much prefer Gaius to do, but there wasn't time. Lancelot was on the brink in more ways than one. Merlin didn't like how cold he was, like he'd been when he'd been freshly back from the world of the dead and the spirits had been trying to reclaim him. It wasn't just blood loss that worried Merlin, either—those dark druids had been draining his life force.

"We need to get him warmed up," Merlin said urgently.

The knights got moving, some to start a fire, others to remove their cloaks to wrap securely around Lancelot, while Merlin fetched his supplies and prepared to close that gaping wound.

He only hoped they weren't already too late.

.o.0.o.

Lancelot felt both simultaneously heavy and like he was floating on a river of darkness. Until he became aware of liquid trickling into his mouth. He jerked and started thrashing, trying to escape. But just like before, he couldn't move, his entire body now restrained in a weighted cocoon. Voices shouted in response, and it took him an extra beat before the familiar baritones registered. He immediately went still and blinked rapidly in an effort to clear his blurry vision. The face that coalesced on his right sent a wave of relief through him.

"Merlin," he breathed.

Merlin had a hand on his arm. "You're safe. It's us."

Lancelot blinked again and shifted his gaze. Gwaine was on his left, holding a bowl of steaming liquid that smelled like broth. There was a solid mass behind him as well, and Lancelot realized it was two arms encircling him keeping him in a secure hold, not an imprisoning one. Tilting his head back slightly, he found himself propped up against Percival's chest.

"We were just trying to warm you up with some hot broth," Merlin went on, eyeing him with concern. "Think you can take some?"

Lancelot nodded slowly, and Gwaine inched forward to press the rim of the bowl to his lips. Lancelot willingly swallowed the heated liquid, which felt good going down and made him realize how cold he was. He shivered, even though he was wrapped in multiple cloaks and saddle blankets. It was like the heat couldn't penetrate deeply enough, which sent a thrill of fear through him. He'd felt this type of chill once before…

"The people who took you were using your blood for a spell," Merlin explained. "They were draining your life energy. That's why you feel so cold now, but you _will_ be warm again soon."

Lancelot met his friend's gaze and saw the sincerity there, so he allowed himself to believe it.

Movement drew his attention as Arthur came over.

"It's good to see you awake," Arthur said. "Merlin was worried."

Merlin huffed and rolled his eyes. Lancelot smiled faintly. He knew that meant Arthur was too. All of them were, Lancelot could see it in their eyes.

"Thank you," he said, exhaustion tugging at him once more.

"Rest up, mate," Gwaine said. "We've got your back."

Lancelot let himself drift, secure in that promise. Percival was warm at his back and this brotherhood thawed the rest of his aching spirit better than any medicine ever could.


	2. No 10 Trail of Blood

No 10. Trail of Blood

Arthur watched stoically as his knights carried over the bodies to line up in a row, sounding off their names as each one was laid on the ground away from the carnage. It looked like the patrol had been ambushed. Over a dozen enemy warriors lay slain around them, and Arthur couldn't tell how many total there had been, how many had escaped after their slaughter. For they had yet to find one Knight of Camelot who'd survived.

Merlin was rushing from body to body, turning those face down in the mud over to see their faces. The frantic look on his face stirred Arthur's own anxiety, though he couldn't let himself show it. He had to remain calm and unaffected.

Percival laid down another body, then straightened and looked around with a furrowed brow. "Is that the last?"

Everyone's eyes widened at the implication and they all cast harried gazes around the clearing.

Merlin jogged over, breathing heavily. "Lancelot's not here."

Arthur stiffened. "Spread out," he ordered.

Maybe in the fighting he'd gotten separated from the main group. Or maybe he'd been taken captive. He _hadn't_ returned to Camelot to report the ambush in the day the patrol had been overdue.

They all moved out from the clearing and into the surrounding woods, searching for their missing friend.

"Over here!" Leon called.

Arthur spun and strode toward him swiftly.

Leon pointed to the ground where dry but distinctive rust colored splotches stood out on the grass.

"Could be a wounded bandit," Elyan pointed out.

"Could be Lancelot," Merlin quickly countered.

"Let's find out," Arthur said and drew his sword, just in case.

The knights unsheathed their blades as well and they started after the trail of blood. It went on for a while, and Arthur began to hope it truly was Lancelot, because who else would be stubborn enough to keep pressing on while so obviously wounded? Yet the more blood they continued to follow, the more Arthur worried that they'd find the knight too late.

Gwaine suddenly pulled up short and gestured for everyone else to do the same. Then he pointed toward a tree just ahead, and Arthur saw a pair of legs extended out from someone propped against the trunk on the other side. With a silent nod, the knights spread out to circle around.

A red cloak came into view next, followed by a blood-streaked hand. Arthur quickened his pace to come around fully and felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Lancelot was slumped against the tree, head lolled to the side, eyes closed.

Merlin darted in and urgently began checking him over, and Arthur braced himself for the pronouncement that his friend was dead.

"He's alive," Merlin blurted. "I need water and bandages!"

Arthur could hardly believe it. He moved in to crouch on Lancelot's other side as Leon and Elyan ran back to their horses to get the needed supplies. Merlin was pulling back Lancelot's chain mail to reveal a nasty sword gash in his side. Lancelot moaned at the jostling and lolled his head toward Arthur, his eyes fluttering sluggishly.

"Lancelot," Arthur called with all the authority of a King demanding his subject's attention.

Lancelot blinked at him blearily, then frowned in confusion as he flicked his gaze around the woods. Then Merlin pressed his scarf against his wound and Lancelot arched with a pained cry.

Arthur gripped his bicep and squeezed firmly. "Stay with me," he commanded.

Lancelot struggled to open his eyes again. "Ambush," he panted.

"I know."

Lancelot shut his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. "All dead."

Arthur's heart clenched with grief. "I know," he said again softly.

"I tried- tried to get- back," Lancelot continued breathlessly.

"I hate to say this," Merlin interjected, "but you were going the wrong way."

Lancelot squinted in confusion again and Arthur noticed he didn't seem to be focusing correctly. Merlin seemed to notice too because he abruptly reached up to feel around Lancelot's head. The knight hissed as Merlin brushed over something.

"You took a hit to the head," Merlin said, half in question, half in statement, as he'd apparently found evidence to confirm it.

Lancelot's eyes pinched further.

"Between that and the blood loss, I'm surprised you made it this far," Merlin went on, adopting a casual tone, though the look in his eyes belied his worry.

Leon and Elyan returned with their supplies and one of their horses, and Merlin set about tending Lancelot's wound as best he could so they could get him to Gaius. It'd be a difficult ride on his already taxed body, but Lancelot was strong. He'd make it.

Once he was bandaged, Percival and Gwaine helped get him onto the horse, lingering to make sure he didn't immediately fall off. Lancelot bowed forward over the saddle, leaning slightly to the left, but he kept himself in the seat by raw determination alone. Arthur never ceased to be impressed by it.

Camelot had suffered a great loss this day, but the Knights of the Round Table still stood strong and proud.


	3. No 15 Magical Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, last whumptober piece I wrote for Merlin.

No 15. Magical Healing

Merlin cast a harried glance over his shoulder as he and the knights hastened through the woods. Lancelot was faltering, even with Percival's strong arms half supporting him. They just needed to get back to Camelot, back to Gaius who would kick them all out of the room, and then Merlin could use his magic to heal his friend. If only they hadn't lost their horses and supplies in the ambush.

Lancelot's knees buckled and he sank to the ground, stopped only by Percival's firm grip.

"Arthur!" the large knight called.

Merlin was already rushing back to them and dropping to his knees next to Lancelot, who was ashen and sweating. Merlin pushed his shirt mail up to get a look at the wound; he went rigid. The black, spidery veins branching out from the otherwise trivial sword nick had climbed all the way up Lancelot's chest and were dangerously close to his heart. Merlin could feel the malevolent magic pulsing inside them, poisoning the knight from the inside out.

Arthur and the other knights gathered around, their expressions fraught as they caught sight of the gruesome injury.

Lancelot grunted in pain and slumped against Percival, eyes squeezed shut as he rode out the waves of agony this curse was wreaking upon his body. Merlin reached out to grip his arm fervently, silently pleading for him to hold on.

"Fashion a litter," Arthur commanded.

Leon, Gwaine, and Elyan quickly spread out to find some sturdy branches to use, but that still left Arthur and Percival and Merlin couldn't use his magic in front of them.

"Let's lay him down," he suggested, wracking his brain for how to get a few moments alone with Lancelot.

Percival shifted to ease their friend back so he was lying on the ground, his head cushioned on Percival's knees. Lancelot arched his back and sucked in a sharp breath, and Merlin could swear he could feel those black barbs digging deeper. They were out of time.

"See if you can find some water nearby," Merlin said, scooting forward to take Percival's place.

The large knight gently lifted Lancelot's head so he could move away, easing it down in Merlin's lap. He then stood and hurried off into the trees in search of a water source.

"Maybe you should go the other direction," Merlin blurted to Arthur.

Arthur regarded him for a moment before wordlessly getting up and heading in the opposite direction Percival had gone.

"Don't risk it," Lancelot said breathlessly.

"You're dying," he retorted sharply, glancing around to make sure the coast was clear. He could hear the other knights in the woods; they hadn't gone far and could return at any second.

Lancelot lashed a hand up to grab Merlin's arm, eyes wide and earnest. "I will not trade your life for mine."

"And I won't watch you die knowing I could do something." Merlin inhaled sharply and lowered his head, holding a hand over the poisoned wound. He uttered one of the spells of healing he knew, even though it didn't usually work for him.

He felt his magic flare then sputter. Nothing happened. Merlin gritted his teeth and tried again. Still, his magic wouldn't respond to the incantation.

"Damn it!" he cursed, slamming his fist against the ground.

"It's not your fault," Lancelot said, gaze sad, though not for himself. His chest hitched and he closed his eyes, trying to breathe through it.

Merlin refused to accept this. Heedless of anyone that might be on their way back, he drew his shoulders up and summoned his magic, focusing instead on the instinctual level, the one he'd used as a child before he'd ever learned what magic was.

His power ebbed and flowed inside him like a rippling pool, calm and tranquil. _Please_ , he begged. He extended his hand over Lancelot again, concentrating on his love for his friend and his fervent desire to save him.

His magic swelled in response, surging up and cascading over the black curse working its way through Lancelot's veins. And when it rushed back like an outgoing tide, Merlin felt some of that poison get drawn back with it.

It stung at his mind and burned his hand, and Merlin abruptly reeled back in surprise. Lancelot went limp, his head lolling to the side. For a second, Merlin feared he'd failed, but then he noticed that Lancelot's breathing was slightly easier, and the black veins on his chest had receded a couple of inches. It wasn't a cure, but maybe it had bought them enough time to make it back to Gaius.

Merlin jolted as the knights returned, having finished fashioning a litter of branches with one of their cloaks stretched between them. Arthur and Percival returned as well, though without having found any water. That didn't matter.

Merlin quickly pulled Lancelot's shirt mail down and jumped to his feet. The knights laid the litter down next to Lancelot and transferred him onto it.

"Is he…?" Elyan asked fearfully.

"Still holding on," Merlin replied.

"Then let's go," Arthur said.

Percival and Gwaine picked up the two ends of the litter and they all resumed their trek back toward Camelot.

Merlin kept pace beside Lancelot, constantly reaching out with his magic to monitor the progress of the dark poison still working inside him. He wished he could take a moment to draw some more of it out, but he couldn't justify calling for a stop. He could only hope Lancelot would continue to withstand the poison long enough to make it home.

Eventually the towers of Camelot came into view through the thinning trees and Merlin's heart lurched with both hope and fear. They were so close…

By the time they reached the citadel, Lancelot's breathing was labored again and he kept twitching and moaning in pain. Now Merlin tried to ignore the resonance of the black magic, knowing how close it was encroaching on the knight's heart once more. They were almost to Gaius.

"What happened?" the court physician demanded when they finally reached his chambers.

"He was cut by a cursed blade," Arthur reported as the knights laid Lancelot and the litter on the cot set up in the middle of the room. "At least, that's what we think…"

Merlin wordlessly went to pull up Lancelot's shirt mail to show Gaius. The usually stoic old man who had seen many things in his years looked perturbed at the sight. Merlin caught his eye and tried to convey what he needed.

"Is there anything you can do?" Arthur asked, voice laced with tentative caution.

"I'll do my best, Sire," Gaius replied. "Please, give me the room to work."

"Of course." Arthur signaled for the knights to leave, though they looked reluctant to do so. Merlin understood, but he needed them gone.

Once they had left and shut the door behind them, Merlin crouched down next to Lancelot and held his hands out over his chest, trying to remember exactly how he'd called up his magic before in order to replicate the effects.

"Merlin…" Gaius started gravely.

"I can do this," he insisted. He'd done it once already; he could do it again.

He focused on his magic, feeling it move and breathe inside him like the lifeblood pumping through his veins. He reached out with it, making contact with the poison. The collision of opposing magics crackled painfully but Merlin bore down on it. He felt them churning.

Lancelot made a distressed sound and tossed his head to the side. Merlin took a deep breath and opened his eyes, letting a word of magic spill from his lips without forethought or conscious knowledge. He didn't recognize the word, but he felt the strength and intent it added to his magic, and he felt it swell with power that crashed over the dark magic and snuffed it out with light.

In the next instant, Merlin's magic receded like it'd been sucked out of him too, and he slumped forward over Lancelot, his limbs feeling like limp noodles.

"Merlin," Gaius called urgently, gripping his shoulders and pulling him upright. "Are you all right?"

He was exhausted, but that wasn't important right now. "Lancelot?" he said instead, forcing his eyes open enough to take a look. His vision was blurry for a moment, but after some rapid blinking, he saw that the poisonous veins were completely gone.

Gaius smiled at him. "You did it."

He did it.

Merlin's breath left him in a whoosh and he sagged forward again, this time resting a hand on Lancelot's shoulder.

Lancelot let out a muffled sound and his eyelids fluttered. He looked as worn out as Merlin felt, but alive.

Lancelot blinked blearily around at the room before his gaze settled on Merlin, and then his expression softened into a tired smile. "I owe you my life again," he murmured.

Merlin smiled back. "I owe you mine too. And so much more."

He was too exhausted to put into words how much Lancelot's friendship meant to him, how much having a confidante who knew his secret meant to him. Aside from Gaius, of course, but Gaius was Gaius.

Lancelot seemed to know that, though, for he gave Merlin another soft smile before his eyes drifted closed, this time in restful sleep.

"You need to rest too," Gaius prompted, taking Merlin's arm to help him off the floor.

Merlin let himself be led up to his room. "What are you gonna tell Arthur?" he mumbled as he fell onto his bed.

"That I was able to use herbs and poultices to draw out the infection," Gaius replied. "That's all it was, after all, a magical infection." He picked up the blanket off the floor and draped it over Merlin. "You did good, my boy."

Merlin smiled. Maybe one day others would see his magic for the good it could do. But in the meantime, he still had his two dearest friends, and he had his magic to thank for that.


End file.
